


Starfall

by Neila_Nuruodo



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Gen, The Convocation (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 15:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21273398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neila_Nuruodo/pseuds/Neila_Nuruodo
Summary: ***Shadowbringers spoilers***During the final days of Amaurot, each Convocation member played a vital role in the events that led to the creation of Zodiark.  This was Nabriales's role.Thinking about the special powers Nabriales uses in battle, I began to wonder if the meteors were in fact an extension of his time magic - that is, if he was pulling them from the past.  From Amaurot's final days.  That's how this story happened.





	Starfall

Dawn’s advent obscures the glow of meteors approaching the low-hanging pall of clouds until they begin to break through, making Nabriales’s work that much harder. From his vantage atop the Capitol building he turns constantly, watching for the tell-tale fiery glow that would presage another falling star. Straining eyes see the clouds buckle, see the warning glow build, and he raises his hands, reaching deep inside himself to his inborn power—the same power that stood him head and shoulders above the other candidates for his position on the Convocation.

Below the falling meteor, power builds and swells, a portal growing, expanding, swallowing the rock as it falls. He strains to hold it open, fatigued and aether-burned from laboring through the night to catch every meteor he could. Fires spread and buildings lie shattered where they succeeded in striking the ground—raging monuments to his failures. He will not fail this time.

Slowly the meteor disappears into the time-rift, where he can keep it in stasis forever, or even draw it back out, should he somehow find himself in need of a meteor for some unknowable reason. He grits his teeth, the portal trying to slip his trembling grasp, but he controls its closing so no part of the falling star escapes. He pulls his mask off, uncaring of propriety, wiping his brow before replacing it, then turns in a circle. _ Damnation! _ Another meteor had broken through the clouds while he dealt with the other; it hangs like a drop of water ready to break free and fall.

He takes a deep breath, summoning his reserves—again—and opening another time-portal. He anticipated it would be a struggle so soon after the last, starting it lower to give himself time to force it wide, but even so he nearly fails again, nearly doesn’t get it wide enough before the meteor falls to it. His breath echoes in his hood, harsh rhythmic rasps. Aether burns as he channels it through his body. The pain, he reminds himself, is nothing compared to what those below that rock will feel if he fails. He concentrates, counting breaths, focusing on that instead of the pain. With agonizing slowness the meteor falls further, further into the portal, and finally he draws it closed after it.

He wants to lie down, to take a nap. It won’t be long until the others arrive; Elidibus had agreed to move their gathering here at his request and his suggestion that they could most easily determine their route through the city from the high vantage. But he knows hundreds die each time a meteor strikes—maybe more—and he can’t do it. Can’t take his rest knowing he could save even one life. So he drags another breath in, turns in a slow circle, and watches the skies.

Another meteor begins to crown, clouds boiling out of its way as it descends. He drags in another breath and opens another portal.

“What are you doing?”

He can’t afford the distraction; he ignores the voice until he’s successfully disposed of the meteor. A glance shows him Pashtarot; he barely acknowledges his presence, busy scanning the horizon again. Too many lives rest on his abilities for him to worry about standing on ceremony. Fortunately no meteors have fallen through yet; he has a reprieve of seconds, maybe a minute if he’s lucky. He ignores the footsteps coming closer.

“You’ve been up all night, haven’t you?” Pashtarot’s voice is soft, understanding.

Nabriales spares him a glance. “Yes,” he says shortly, turning again in a slow circle. “I need to focus.”

In his peripheral vision he sees Pashtarot nod and step back, the motions accompanied by the soft rustle of fabric. A glow begins burning through the clouds; he opens another portal, swallows another meteor, as the others arrive one by one. To his credit, Pashtarot heads them off as they arrive, drawing them to the side so his focus may remain intact.

As if to make up for the reprieve he’d just had, a second meteor is already below the clouds when he finishes with the first, and a glow signifies the advent of a third. His eyes prick as he measures his reserves, the distance to the ground. He cannot catch it. It’s fallen too low already, and he struggles to even open the portals. Expanding it to the needed size will take too long. He whispers a broken, agonized curse and turns to the one that has only begun to breach. Once it is dealt with he turns again, not surprised to find the rest of the Convocation assembled and waiting for him. With one last glance at the sullen skies, he turns on his heel and walks to join them.

Elidibus gives him a nod as he comes to a stop. “All is determined,” he says. “Our path will begin to the west and continue north. Everyone has their tasks; as you have no doubt guessed, yours will be to deal with the meteors. If we have to shield through them we will, but most of our shielding will be utilized to prevent the Sound from reaching us, and we dare not spare too much power for other protections. Will you be able to continue doing this?”

Nabriales nods, trying not to let his fatigue slow. “I can do it.”

They set out, and, with the sour ache of failure swelling in his gut, he turns his attention solely to their path, their surroundings, holding his powers back until a meteor threatens them before unleashing them to protect their small group, their precious, heartbreaking burden. The chaos swells as they continue on, the devastation spreading, the horrors and meteors spawning more and more frequently. Something horrid blocks the path ahead, drawing down meteor after meteor on the heads of the group’s fighters, and he pushes himself to the limit ensuring that they do not strike their targets. Finally the terrible worm falls, and they continue their trek, regrouping and resuming their marching order—all except for Elidibus, who moves to walk beside him.

“What are you doing?” He turns a glare on Elidibus as the emissary puts a hand on his shoulder and begins feeding him aether. He swats at the hand. “You need that at least as much as I do!”

“Without you at your best, we may not even get that far.” His voice is soft but utterly implacable, and Nabriales cannot help but sag slightly, unable to deny the truth of his words. Jaw bunching, he nods once, accepting the gift. The power revitalizes him to a degree, and the next portal is not such a strain, but fatigue still eats at his bones, driven so deep he struggles to believe it will ever fade. They press on, finally reaching a point where they can begin their ascent, to the place far above the star where they can shape their ultimate concept, the most complex and grand creation ever attempted—imbued not merely with a soul, but enough souls to create a true Will for the star.

Energy takes form, crystallizing into a walkway for them to stand on, and even this is beset by enemies. Tired but determined, they fight their way through. The last group falls and Nabriales pauses at the edge of the platform, looking down at the star far below. The fires are so wide-spread they can be seen even from here. Giant hunks of rock streak down toward the planet far below; he cannot determine from here exactly where they’ll land, but the creatures summoning them never bring them down but to kill, maim, destroy. He sees one he thinks within his range and reaches out. A hand lands on his arm, gently pressing downward.

“You cannot stay behind, Nabriales. We still need you.”

Teeth bared in a snarl, he whirls on Lahabrea. “I can still save more people, even from here. I can catch up with you later.”

“This will save everyone.”

Breathing still rapid, chest banded with stress and pain, he forces himself to nod. “Yes,” he whispers. “You are, of course, right. I am sorry.”

“Do not be.” He squeezes his shoulder and turns to go. Nabriales follows after, the urge to look back pulling at him. He forces himself to look forward instead, to visualize the savior they will create. His vision blurs, wavering, but he holds his head high as they reach their destination, facing off with one final, terrible fiend.


End file.
